


When My Wonder Was Cage Free

by crossroadswrite



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcoholism, Angst, Dean Winchester's Self-Worth Issues, Gen, Giveaway fic, John Winchester's Bad Parenting, all the angst shit, and how he got them, canon complient, hurt!Dean, kid!Dean, kid!Sam, parent neglect
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-28
Updated: 2014-12-28
Packaged: 2018-03-04 01:08:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2903729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crossroadswrite/pseuds/crossroadswrite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is six when his Dad takes him into an open field and shoves a gun in his hands, which he knows he’s not supposed to touch.</p><p>“I’m not s’posed to touch it,” he whispers.</p><p>Dad looks at him like he’s starting to get mad and then he crouches down so he can look Dean right in the eyes. Dad’s eyes are weird; red and a little glazed over.</p>
            </blockquote>





	When My Wonder Was Cage Free

**Author's Note:**

> Part of my christmas fic giveaway! Here have some pain for this jolly season.
> 
> Title taken from Grow Up and Be Kids by The Cab.

Dean is six and he tries to be very quiet.

Sammy is two and he’s very loud, so Dean tries to keep quiet to compensate because Dad gets mad at him if he’s loud. He doesn’t get mad at Sammy much, but Sammy is a baby and Dean is growing up and is supposed to look after him.

He keeps quiet at school and looks after Sammy and he tries not to laugh or smile because Dad says he looks like Mom when he does it and then he gets mad and drinks a bottle of something that looks like apple juice but smells bad.

Dean is six when his Dad takes him into an open field and shoves a gun in his hands, which he knows he’s not supposed to touch.

“I’m not s’posed to touch it,” he whispers.

Dad looks at him like he’s starting to get mad and then he crouches down so he can look Dean right in the eyes. Dad’s eyes are weird; red and a little glazed over.

“You listen to me kid,” he says in his serious voice, his breath smells bad, “this,” he pats the gun, “is what will keep you safe. Keep your brother safe. A monster killed your mom, do you want the same to happen to Sammy? Do you want your brother to die, is that it?!”

Dean shakes his head fiercely, bottom lip wobbling.

“I protect Sammy,” he says because that’s what his Dad always says and his Dad can’t be wrong.

“That’s right. So you’re going to pick up that gun and learn how to use it. Are we clear?”

“Yes.”

“Yes what?”

Dean frowns, “Yes, Dad?”

Dad’s face scrunches up like he’s mad, “Sir,” he says firmly, “Yes, Sir.”

Dean wants to flinch away from him but doesn’t.

“Yes, Sir,” he whispers.

Dad pokes him in the shoulder hard and it hurts.

“What are you? A girl?! Say it like you mean it!”

Dean’s hands start shaking.

“Yes, Sir!” he says as loud as he can.

Dad smiles and places a hand on his neck squeezing once, “That’s my boy,” he praises.

Dean beams at him, before he reminds himself and drops his smile. Dad is still smiling though so he guesses it’s okay even if his smile is different.

Once Dean had left one of his Mom’s books outside and it had rained on it. Mom wasn’t mad, but he remembers how the letters faded out and ran down the pages. He guesses that’s what happened to his Dad’s smile too.

Dad teaches him everything about guns he can. How to reload and to aim and shoot and take care of ‘em. He gives Dean a bullet.

“But it’s so little,” he tells him, a little amazed at how something so small can cause so much damage.

“So are you. Doesn’t mean you can’t be deadly,” Dad tells him and that makes him feel like a hundred bucks, which is something Mrs. Missouri used to say.

Sammy has been sitting next to them the whole time playing with a toy Dean accidentally brought from a store without paying. He told Dad what he had down, but Dad just patted his head and said it didn’t matter.

“Did you hear that, Sammy. I’m _deadly_.”

Sam giggles and says “Dean!” in his happy voice. Dean gives him an extra special smile for it.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” his Dad chastises and grabs him by the shoulder, yanking him up, “You need to be able to shoot to actually be deadly.”

He goes into the truck he got a couple of stops back and takes a bag of flour out of the back, placing it a few yards away.

“Do you see that, that’s your mark. Shoot your mark, Dean. Make me proud.”

Dean does everything his Dad told him he needed to do, turning the safety of the gun off and trying to aim it with both hands at the flour bag just like his Dad taught him to.

“Watch the kick when you shoot.”

Dean nods seriously, trying to aim at the flour bag, sticking his tongue out in concentration. He presses the trigger and the gun flies back, hitting him in the nose and making him fall on his butt.

His face starts hurting and Dean starts crying putting his hands to his nose and feeling them get wet. When he pulls his hands back away they’re covered in blood.

Dean’s six when he stains his fingers with his own blood for the first time.

Dad looks down on him as he sobs, prodding at his nose and whimpering when the pain flares up.

“Daddy help, I’m bleeding,” he whines.

“You’re crying about it too, you sissy,” Jonh tuts, looking at him a little dispassionately, “Do you think monsters give a fucking damn if you’re crying or bleeding, uh? Because they don’t. Get up, clean yourself and try again.”

“Hurts,” he sobs.

Dad yanks him up by the arm and drags him back to the car, Sam whimpering unhappily and trailing after them.

“Useless, can’t even shoot a gun. What use are you if you can’t protect your brother. Uh, Dean!”

Dean cries harder. Dad sits him on the hood and roughly starts cleaning him up, making his nose hurt even more.

“Dad you’re hurting me.”

“If you can’t handle a little pain you can’t handle life,” he says firmly, dropping the bloody rag on Dean’s lap and telling him to clean himself up.

Dean tries to suppress his sobs, blink his eyes free of tears because Daddy is mad at him. Dean disappointed him.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, picking up the rag and passing it roughly over his cheeks and on his nose.

It hurts but it’s okay.

_If you can’t handle a little pain you can’t handle life._

“I’ll do better. Promise. I’ll be good. I’ll protect Sammy. I won’t cry again.”

Dad gives him an assessing look, so Dean puts his brave face.

“Alright. Let’s try again.”

Dean jumps off the hood of the Impala, patting it gently.

Dad is already waiting for him with the gun in his hand. Dean picks it up again.

This time he won’t get hurt or cry. He’ll make Daddy proud. He’ll make Daddy like him again like he did before Mommy was gone.

Sammy toddles over and hugs one of Dean’s legs.

“Sowy, Dean.”

“It’s okay, Sammy. I’ll protect you. Now step back.”

Dean aims the gun, even though his nose hurts a lot and he can’t see the target very well. He shoots and holds his arms firm so the gun doesn’t hit him again. He misses by a long shot.

“You’ll get better,” Dad assures him, “You’re still pretty useless at it.”

Dean is six when the word useless plants itself in his brain and creates roots.

Dean’s six when he starts trying his very hardest to stop being useless and do good. To protect Sammy like he’s supposed to do. Like it’s his job to do.

Dean’s six when he gets the permanent feeling that he’ll always fall short of being useful.


End file.
